


You Are The Bullet In The Chamber Of The Gun

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killer, Dubious Consent, FYSL Holiday Hellatus Fanwork Exchange, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:22:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're not the Devil," Sam says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. He loathes these calls, but he's the only one Lucifer will speak to. "You're a sick, deluded murderer, Luke, you're not the Devil."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are The Bullet In The Chamber Of The Gun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [happiestlittlegnome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/happiestlittlegnome/gifts).



> i signed up as a pinch-hitter for the fuckyeahsamlucifer holiday fanwork exchange! this is for [happiestlittlegnome](happiestlittlegnome.tumblr.com); sorry that you had to wait!
> 
> the prompt was: Lucifer’s a criminal that seduces Sam, a cop.

"You have to know I'm tracing this call," Sam says, and on the other end of the line, there's a rough chuckle. It's a laugh he's unfortunately familiar with, a laugh that sends chills running down his spine.

"I'd be disappointed if you weren't, Sammy," Lucifer says. "It won't get you far, of course. You know I'll be long gone by the time you get here, but I appreciate the effort. You know just how to make me feel special."

Sam bites back the automatic retort to that; he suspects it would just make Lucifer amused. "We're going to catch you, you know." It's the same thing he says every time, same reminder.

There's a sigh on the other end, a fond, indulgent sigh that makes his skin crawl. "I think you're almost right with that. I know how this story ends, don't you worry. But they aren't going to catch me. You are."

There's a note of _pride_ in his voice, and it's this that scares Sam more than anything else Lucifer says. He bites his lip, unsure of what to say in response. He's got to keep talking though, got to keep Lucifer on the other end of the line.

Lucifer continues, though, spares him having to respond. "I won't deny I'm looking forward to it, Sam," he says. "The day you finally get to snap the handcuffs around my wrist. What an accomplishment that'll be, being able to say you're the one who finally caught the Devil himself."

"You're not the Devil," Sam says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. He loathes these calls, but he's the only one Lucifer will speak to. "You're a sick, deluded murderer, Luke, you're not the Devil."

"Come on, Sammy," he says. "Call me Lucifer. Like you want to. I know it's how you think of me."

It's appalling how right he is.

"Say it," Lucifer says, soft and encouraging. "I love hearing you say my name. And I think you might like it, too."

He hates this. He fucking hates this. But if it'll keep him on the line—

"Lucifer," Sam breathes, and wants to die a little bit at the pleased noise Lucifer makes.

"I like you, Sam, I really do," Lucifer says. "I've never met a cop quite as much _fun_ as you are." He pauses. "But I think our time for this conversation is just about up. I'll talk to you soon, Sammy."

"No," Sam says hastily, "wait—" But it's too late, there's a click and the sound of a dial tone, and he's just got to hope he managed to keep him on the line long enough for one of his partners to get there.

He's disappointed, but he can't say he's exactly surprised when they turn up nothing again.

"He's like a fucking ghost," Ash complains when he returns, empty-handed. "He just fucking _disappears_."

Sam wonders.

—

He still doesn't know what Lucifer looks like. Sure, they've got a few witness accounts, but nothing solid, and all he has are impressions. Blonde hair, deep-set blue eyes that feel like ice, like they're going straight through you. An easy, looseness to the set of his shoulders and the way he stands. Middle-aged, maybe late thirties, maybe early forties. Vague, shadowy impressions, that's all he's got.

Part of him would like to know, and he doesn't know why. Another part of him is terrified that if he's ever able to properly put a face to Lucifer's voice and honey-slick words, he'll fall, and too deeply to get out.

—

"You ever wonder what it is about you, Sam?" Lucifer asks, tone conversational, but with a hint of mockery.

"I guess I just drew the short straw," Sam says tersely. He hadn't slept well the night before; too much anxiety about the call he knew would be coming.

Lucifer laughs. "I've been watching you," he says, and Sam feels like there's spiders crawling all down his back. "You fascinate me. You've got a gleaming record, haven't you? So committed to justice, to putting away the bad guys. Determined to save everyone. And you take it so _hard_ when you can't."

Sam's mouth is dry. "I don't—" he starts, but Lucifer cuts him off.

"That's why it's so much fun to toy with you," he says. "The look on your face each time you realize I've taken another one. They're all dedicated to you, Sam."

He wants to cry. Why couldn't it just have been fucking someone else—

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, voice in a whisper.

He can practically hear Lucifer's smile through the phone. "Because you could be great, Sammy," he says. "I only want to help you. You've got so many inhibitions, so much that you've buried and repressed. I'm doing all of this for _you_."

"For me," Sam says dully. "Some people just send flowers, you know."

"This is much better than flowers," Lucifer promises. "You don't understand yet. But you will. I'm sure of it."

Ruby's watching him when he hangs up the phone. "You think he's got a sock at home with your name on it?" she says, and smirks when he glares.

"Not funny," he says, and she shrugs.

—

"You've started looking forward to our little chats, haven't you?" Lucifer asks him the next time.

"Fuck you," Sam says.

Lucifer makes a triumphant noise. "You have. I'm starting to get through to you, Sam, I'm very pleased."

"The only reason I answer your calls is to get closer to catching you," Sam snaps. "Sorry to disappoint, but you're not _getting to me_."

A low chuckle. "Tell me, Sam, when was the last time you masturbated?"

Sam nearly chokes. "That's not relevant to anything."

Lucifer tuts. "You're forgetting. I decide what's relevant and what isn't. And this is very much relevant." He pauses, like he's savoring the moment. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" He doesn't wait for a response. "Because every time you touch yourself, in the shower, in bed at night, all you can imagine is me. All you can hear in your head is my voice, like honey, trickling all over you. And you know the worst part, the very worst part, is how hard it gets you."

"No," Sam whispers. "No, I'm not—I don't—" He doesn't understand how Lucifer knows these things about him.

"I'm going to give you a gift, Sam," Lucifer says, and there's a horrible kind of anticipation in his voice. "And maybe it'll help you let go a little next time. Let me tell you how I'd touch you."

"No," Sam says again, feeling horrified."

"I'd be gentle, you know," he says. "Lay you out carefully on your bed, undress you slowly. Push your thighs apart, kneel between your spread legs, like you were an altar I was worshipping at. I'd treat you right, show my appreciation properly. Take my time getting to know your body—you're so beautiful, Sam, you don't know what I'd give to see you naked—"

Sam hangs up, slamming the phone down on the handset, his cheeks burning. He knows he's just cost his team another chance to catch Lucifer, and he's already trying to prepare himself for the lecture he knows is going to come. He doesn't care. He can't—he does not want to find out how that call would have ended.

—

He thinks he's prepared for the next call. He's calm, composed. Lucifer is trying to get to him, he knows. He isn't going to let him.

"Hi, Sammy," Lucifer purrs, and Sam clenches his fingers around his desk.

"Lucifer," he says, doing his best impression of someone in control of the situation.

"You hung up pretty unexpectedly on me last time," Lucifer says, sounding wounded, and isn't that a fucking joke. "I left you another gift; did you get it?"

"Very touching," Sam says, stomach rolling at the memory. They'd found the corpse the day before and—well. He does not want to think about it.

"Such a sense of humor, even in the face of adversity," Lucifer says. "I have very high hopes for you. I've been thinking about you a lot, since our last phone call. I told the last girl all about you, you know. Told her how clever you are, how determined. Told her how beautiful you are, while I cut her open; I think it made her feel better, hearing how lovely and delicate your features are, how pretty you are when you blush, all that fire in your eyes—"

Sam thinks he's going to throw up. He's shaking and seething. "You're a monster," he says, and the calm is evaporating quickly. "You utter _monster_ —I'm going to catch you myself, and you won't even get the electric chair, won't even get as far as a courtroom or a jail cell, because I'm going to kill you myself. I'm going to _rip your heart out_ —"

He stops at the sound of Lucifer's laughter. "That's exactly what I've been looking for," he says. "You keep fanning that fire in your belly, Sam, it is so _very_ beautiful."

—

He tells himself that Lucifer's words don't affect him, tells himself that he's just going to brush this off and be fine. It's not like he hasn't worked on cases that scared him before (but nothing had left him fucking _terrified_ like this, nothing had ever left him with the kind of fear that went straight down to his bones like this).

And so he goes home, feeling like he needs a long, hot shower to scrub off the filth he feels like Lucifer's parting _gift_ to him had left all over his skin.

He tries his best not to think about it, feels like if he thinks about it too much he won't ever be able to get the dirt off. But Lucifer is right, he can't hear anything in his head but Lucifer's voice, soft and affectionate, whispering all the things he'd do to Sam. He slides the soap across his skin, and all he can feel is Lucifer's fingers, stroking him in curious, hungry touches. The spray of the water slicks down his hair, and he can imagine how Lucifer would run his fingers through it, tug on it, bend Sam to his will. He's hard before he knows it, and he's never hated anything the way he hates Lucifer right now.

And no, that's wrong, it's not even Lucifer he hates, it's himself, for being this weak, letting a murderer get to him like this. He wraps his hand around his cock and feels more ashamed than he ever has before in his life.

Sam leans back against the shower wall and shuts his eyes, and this is when he becomes aware that there's footsteps outside the bathroom, and the handle is rattling and turning, and there's fear rising in the back of his throat, fear like he's never felt before, and the bathroom door opens—

"Hello, Sam," Lucifer says, and Sam is _petrified_ against the shower wall.

"Get out." The words are dragged roughly from his throat, and he knows they'll be futile.

Lucifer flicks his eyes up and down Sam's body, makes him want to curl up and die, and he cannot believe that he's still fucking hard. "You sure that's what you want me to do?" He's straying closer, then, still staring at Sam. "I could help you with that," he says, and the way his eyes wander down makes it clear exactly what he's talking about.

Sam doesn't say anything, doesn't move, is helpless to do anything but watch as Lucifer shrugs out of his shirts, undoes his jeans and pushes them down his hips along with his underwear. And then he's stepping into the shower with Sam, crowding him back against the tile wall, running one hand down his side and letting it settle around his hip.

Lucifer raises his other hand, and Sam flinches instinctively, but he just settles it against Sam's neck, letting two fingers rest against his pulse.

"You know, you don't need to be afraid of me," he says. "I'd never hurt you. Not after I've done so much for you." He lifts his hand up to cup the side of Sam's face, laying his thumb against Sam's mouth and tugging it open. He kisses Sam, and it's nothing like what he'd have expected. It's slow and soft, it's a claim, not a conquest. He's opening up to it and pressing back before he even knows what he's doing.

"I told you," Lucifer says. "I'm just trying to help you. You're a good cop now, Sam, but you'll be better for this. You keep too much buried below the surface, but you can't keep it down there forever. You're trying to deny part of your nature, and it's not healthy."

"You've killed people," Sam whispers, and inhales sharply as Lucifer cups his ass, squeezes gently.

"All for you, Sammy," Lucifer says. "Inferior creatures, all of them. Their lives were worth far less than yours is." He kisses Sam's neck, sucks until it bruises. "That'll be to remember me by." He strokes Sam's dick, smiling when Sam whimpers and thrusts up into his hand.

"Are—are you—" Sam can't quite get the words out, but Lucifer understands. He always understands.

"Am I going to fuck you?" he says, and his smile turns considering. "You'd like that, wouldn't you. My cock inside you, filling you up. But I don't think so. Not tonight," and Sam tells himself he absolutely does not feel disappointed.

"No," he continues. "I'm not interested in using you like that. What I am interested in is seeing just how much self-control you have." And then his hands are gone, and Sam makes a soft noise in his throat. "You let go so well last time, and I was so proud. Now I'd like to teach you something about control. A fine degree of control is important, you know." His hand is back, but it's a light touch, barely there. "I'd like to see how long we can draw this out. I don't want you coming until I tell you to," and his hand wanders up into Sam's hair, tangling in it, fingers tightening. "Say you understand."

Sam nods jerkily, shutting his eyes to block out the look of dark satisfaction on Lucifer's face. "Good boy," he breathes, and rewards Sam with a rough twist of his hand. It's good, it's so good, and he pushes up into Lucifer's hand, but Lucifer makes a reproving noise. 

Lucifer's fingers are exploratory, worshipful, just like he promised. "I've been looking forward to this for a very long time," he murmurs, running his fingers down Sam's back, tracing down his spine and fingering each bone. "Thought about what you'd look like, like this, naked and blushing. You are just too perfect, Sam. I'd like to memorize every inch of you." His touch trails lightly down to the small of Sam's back, hovers there before dipping lower, sliding in between his cheeks, traces down to his hole and pushes deliberately inside.

It _burns_ , hurts like he hadn't expected it to, a too rough stretch that pulls soft noises of protest from his mouth.

"Shh, it's alright, Sammy," Lucifer says, gentle and reassuring, and he gasps, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and nods, relaxing against the intrusion. Lucifer's fingers are deft and reach deep, brushing against his prostate and making him arch his back and groan. All too soon, they withdraw, leaving Sam strangely empty, but Lucifer kisses him and says, "Control, Sam."

The press of his erection is growing painful, now, especially as Lucifer runs his palms down Sam's chest, toys with his nipples. He tilts his head to the side, squirms under the relentless press of Lucifer's fingers, and he's so hard it hurts. He thinks he's going to die with it, he just needs to _come_. Sam presses the palm of his hand down against the base of his cock, not sure how much longer he can stand this.

He's so focused on not coming that he's startled when Lucifer's hand wraps around his cock again, rough jacks of his hand that are the most delicious, exquisite agony he's ever experienced. It's a rush of relief when Lucifer murmurs, "Come for me, Sam," and he comes harder than he can ever remember, shuddering with it.

"Beautiful," Lucifer tells him, kissing him, and leaving another dark bruise forming on his throat. He strokes Sam's wet hair, combing his fingers through it, gentle pressure of his nails on Sam's scalp. "I knew you were something special, Sam."

"I don't—" Sam starts. "I don't know what happens now."

Lucifer smiles at him. "You keep chasing me. I told you you'd be the one to catch me. You keep on coming after me, and one day I'm sure you'll get me. I'm very much looking forward to it."

And he leaves, leaving Sam alone and shivering under the cooling spray of the shower.


End file.
